The Navaho Connection
ON OUR RECENT JAUNT through the Southwest we stayed in a number of different places. Some were better than others.
For example: We did not care for the place in Cortez, Colorado. I guess there was nothing technically wrong with it other than it seemed to be geared more to a clientele consisting of transient oil field workers or men who were transporting heavy duty trailers with no windows and double padlocks. My wife (the lovely and Dr. Pepper expert, Dawn) thought, perhaps, they were shipping some important homegrown pharmaceuticals. My opinion was more along the line of 32 Chinese stowaways on their way to New York City.
We’ll never know. They were gone bright and early the next morning.
Our next stop was at “Lulu’s Motel” in Page, Arizona.
When I first learned that we were spending the night at Lulu’s I was a bit concerned. Really? Lulu’s Motel?
It does sound a bit like a place where the rooms rent by the hour and no questions are asked when all of the guests are named “Smith.”
For two nights, count ‘em, two, at Jacob’s Lake Inn.
The biggest question the guests there ask is, “Where is the Lake?” Well, you see – there really isn’t one in the usual sense of the word. The “”Lake” is really just a watering hole for livestock and local wildlife and it comes and goes with the weather. Lots of rain – big lake. Not so much rain – not so much, if any, lake. It’s been dry lately.
Jacob’s Lake Inn had very soft beds (too soft for my taste), a decent restaurant and lots of Navaho blankets and such for sale. Not cheap. A nice sized blanket could easily run you $4000 or more. I couldn’t afford a mouse pad.
The reason most people stay at the Jacob’s Lake Inn is that it is about an hour’s drive from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
(So ends my review of the Grand Canyon.)
We did uncover one of those spooky coincidences while staying at Jacob’s Lake.
We were looking through the gift shop at the expensive rugs when a sales clerk, a young lady, offered her help. She was Navaho, or at least half Navaho, with a bit of a Navaho accent. Her father was one of the expert weavers. The fact that she had blonde hair made me think that maybe Mommy was Norwegian.
She asked us where we were from and when we told her, Terre Haute (That’s French for “Not many Navahos around here) she replied that she had spent seven months there on a church mission trip.
I never knew that the Navahos did mission work in Indiana.
As the purchase was being wrapped, a second young Navaho blonde clerk offered up that her grandparents were currently in Terre Haute doing some genealogy research. I think all of these blonde Navahos are cousins or something and they are either infiltrating Indiana or they tell this same nonsense to everyone who comes into the gift shop. However…
I gotta look into this, I thought. What’s with all this Navaho business in Terre Haute?
I doubt if I will actually ever get around to “looking into” this Navaho Connection to the Hoosier State.
I’d rather just think of a way to save up enough to buy a rug.